


It's What a Heart is For

by anupturnedboat



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Gen, Possibly Unrequited Love, Romance, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anupturnedboat/pseuds/anupturnedboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he is like this, his coat thrown over Mary Margaret’s toile chair, his hair tousled, and a sweet cautiousness in his voice - he is almost exactly the kind of thing that could touch her lonely heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Henry has been rescued. Yay! The crew has just gotten back to Storybrooke, but something is not quite right.
> 
> Will be a multi-(short) chaptered fic.

“Something’s wrong,” Regina says stiffening, sniffing the air.  She jabs a finger at Golds chest.  “What kind of spell did you use?”

Killian curses under his breath. _Couldn’t there just be one day where blasted magic isn’t mucking things up?_

“A simple cloaking spell,” Gold replies condescendingly, standing his ground, but looking uncertain.

“I feel it too,” David mutters, looking around the deserted street.  “Something is definitely off.”

“Maybe Belle got something mixed up,” Mary Margaret offers.

“That nitwit,” Regina sneers, irritated.  “She can’t walk and talk at the same time, let alone cast a spell.”

“I’ll find Belle,” Gold sighs, already turning from the group.

“I’m coming with you,” Regina says.  “You’re going to need my help to fix – whatever this is,” she says waving her hand in the air.

Regina hugs Henry tightly. “I’ll come by in the morning. You get some sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” Henry argues.

“I’ll be taking my leave as well,” Killian says stepping back.  He thinks he sees a flicker of disappointment in Emma's eyes, but reasons it is only a trick of the moonlight when she doesn’t make a move to stop him.

“You can’t go!” Henry exclaims.  He stands toe to toe with Killian, looking up at him with an oh-so-familiar expression. Killian’s eyes flick over to Emmas. A thin smile perches on her lips.

“You have a family reunion to attend to lad,” Killian replies gruffly. He can feel Emma's eyes on him still.

“But you’re one of us now!” Henry implores.  “Besides if there is something dangerous out there we should stick together.”

“And those two?” Killian asks, turning to watch Regina and Gold slither down the street. Both were loathsome bothers in his opinion, he hopes the lad is not destined to bear the burden of his families misdeeds.

“They have magic to protect them,” Henry reasons.

Killian raises an eyebrow. “And I have this,” he says using his hook to pull back his coat. His sword is bright against the dark.

Henry sighs, “Just come with us, you can take off tomorrow if the world doesn’t end tonight or something.”

Emma stifles a laugh and shrugs her shoulders when Killian looks to her for help.

“Better do what he says,” Mary Margaret chirps. “Otherwise we will be out here arguing all night.  I don’t know about you guys, but I am hungry and tired, and I could really use a shower.”


	2. Chapter 2

Your son is already an irritating do-gooder,” Killian grumbles. Emma smacks him on the shoulder, hard, but smiles crookedly. Killian decides any bodily harm is worth gaining even half a smile from her, and then immediately winces at his sentimentality.

She misses his slip up, takes a sip of tea, and then says more seriously. “He found out he lost the father he just met, and then two seconds later is kidnapped by a couple of psychos and taken away from everyone he loves.”

“ _Swan_ -” Killian starts, feeling that breathless thing that happens around her clutch him tight.

“I think he just didn’t want to lose anything else tonight,” Emma says softly breaking the strange spell. “If you’d really rather go back to the ship you can sneak out after he falls asleep. I’ll make an excuse in the morning.”

Killian carefully watches her profile. It is so hard to know whether she wants him to stay or not. “Do you have anything stronger to drink, love?” he finally asks, deciding that he will take what he can get. “I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep tonight.”


	3. Chapter 3

They sit across from each other at the kitchen table. It is the darkest hour of the night, but a soft light burns and Emma keeps thinking that Killian’s voice is like a lullaby. When he is like this, his coat thrown over Mary Margaret’s toile chair, his hair tousled, and a sweet cautiousness in his voice - he is almost exactly the kind of thing that could touch her lonely heart.

She shakes her head. _He is not_.

Killian stares at her curiously, and she almost smiles in response, but instead something green flutters in her periphery. She looks up. A thick vine uncoils from the ceiling, then another. Fragrant white flowers unfurl from delicate looking stems.

“Killian?”

He catches what must be a fearful look on her face and turns.

The apartment’s living room begins to shimmer, it is a mirage, and then it blinks out completely. The night air is humid. Sharp pin pricks of light sparkle and hang in the air.

The sweet scent of the white blooms clouds the air.

“Henry!” she groans, disbelieving, terrified. “Where’s Henry?”

She bolts up from the chair, and in her haste painfully bangs her knee on the edge of the table, sending Killian’s glass off the edge. She expects to hear it shatter on the hardwood floor, but rich green grass carpets its fall.

“I am not drunk,” she mutters shutting her eyes tightly.

“Are you drunk?” she asks Killian, her eyes still closed.

Instead of his reply, she hears music, faint, but rustling between the rapidly growing vines. Something that is distinctly Irish - a lament turning into a ballad. Louder now, it mutates, into a different song - one she would have turned up the radio for in another life, (something about a heart shaped hotel room) but can’t remember in this one.

_It’s what a heart is for._

She opens her eyes, looks down and gasps. Where are her clothes?

She holds her arms out; completely overwhelmed by the white, flowy gown she is suddenly wearing. It feels heavy on her body, and the bodice is layered with an intricate web of silky looking feathers. She can feel the boning of a corset against her ribcage. _And holy crap she has cleavage!_

Killian is still turned away from her his shoulders are tense as he surveys the changing landscape of the apartment. Although he has not drawn it, his hand is on the hilt of his sword.

He turns; his eyes are alert as he continues to scan the room. He stops on her. Stops cold.

Emmas heart spins a staccato beat.

Killian’s hand drops from the hilt of his sword and after what seems like the longest most languid minute in the history of the world, he gently touches one of the downy feathers at the dresses’ neckline.

He considers it for a moment, the feather between his fingers, his eyes meeting hers dreamily before they dart away to look at something over her shoulder.


	4. Chapter 4

He pushes her, hard, and Emma falls onto the shaggy grass with an _oomph_.

“What the hell was that?” she yelps, sitting up. She tries to stand, but the frou frou dress, has her feet all tangled up, and she hears it rip as the heel of her boot catches the hem.

There is a deadly swishing sound right above her ear, and she freezes. Killian’s sword slices the air between her shoulder and the bottom of her ear lobe and she is sure that he has at least nicked her

“Are you crazy?” she yells, the adrenaline making her words sound screechy. The cloying smell she noticed before overtakes her as one of the large white blooms falls between her boots. “What the bejesus is going on?” she chokes out looking up.

Another vine, twists in a surprisingly menacing way, towards Killian’s arm that is still raised, sword at the ready.

“Killian!” she yells reaching out and roughly grabbing a fist full of his shirt. He stumbles into her with the force, his boots getting tangled up in the annoying dress now, and they both fall. His sword is swallowed up by the thick wild grass.

The white bloom at the end of the vine shoots towards them, and Emma only has enough time to register one thought; _What kind of flowers have teeth?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, longer chapters coming up next.


	5. Chapter 5

Some moments are like the trees, the bends in the road and the street signs when you are speeding down the highway on the back of a motorcycle. They happen just that fast and are wind in your hair blurry.  

Some are more like a fat drop of water in a leaky sink, something drawn out more than it has a right to be.

This moment is just like that. 

They are all tangled up, random limbs, the very loud thumpy sound her heart is making, this stupid dress, and the much too serious look in Hook’s eyes. _It’s what a heart is for –_

_Stop! Evil flower thing with teeth –_

“Behind you!” Emma yelps.  _The drop of water falls and disappears down the drain._

Killian twists away from her and propels himself forward awkwardly, retrieving his sword. He is quick on his feet and his sword slices expertly.

Emma falls back, rolls, crosses her arms over her face, as a large chuck of the creepy vine thing hits the ground with a tremor.

A moment of silence, and then she opens her eyes, annoyed at how tightly she had squeezed them shut.  

“Now where were we?” Killian teases, but his voice is all wrong.

Emma can’t think of a single witty or sarcastic retort.  

It doesn’t matter anyway. Killian goes white, topples over.

“Killian!” she shouts shaking him.  

One of those nasty white flowers has leeched itself to his collarbone

“What the hell are these things?” she mutters hysterically, as she pulls the flower away from his skin, shuddering as the sharp fang like teeth make tearing sounds.  The horrible cloying smell envelopes her once again and she starts to choke on the noxious fumes.


	6. Chapter 6

_Emma_ a familiar voice calls. It feels so far away, but she can feel breath against her ear and her cheek and she forces her eyes open.

“Killian?”

“I don’t think so,” the voice replies disdainfully.

Emma sits up, coughs. Her eyes go wide. “Graham? Is it really you?”

Graham smiles and helps her to her feet. “Wait, you’re dead,” she stops him, backing away. “This is some kind of trick, or illusion. You aren’t really here, she says, crossing her arms over her chest, her voice going steely.

“No trick I promise, but sadly, you are correct, I am not really here.”

“Am I dead?” she blurts out.

“You? No. Me, unfortunately, still dead. You’re dreaming Emma,” Graham explains with a smile.

“How can I be dreaming?” Emma demands. “I’m not asleep. As usual I am trying to fight something to save someone.”

“Yeah, it’s a weird habit you have,” he teases lightly. He steps towards her, hugs her tight, and she suddenly wonders if he is thinking about how she couldn’t save him. “But you are dreaming Emma, everyone is,” he whispers into her hair. She shivers all the way down to her toes.

“How do you know that?” she questions her voice shaky, pulling away.

“Well, for one, I have made quite a few – _appearances_ in some of our townspeople’s dreams,” he says, only slightly embarrassed. “It is a little disturbing, I must admit.”

“Ew, thanks for that image,” Emma grimaces. “So everyone is just – dreaming? So eventually we’ll wake up, and everything will go back to normal?”

“It’s not going to be that easy. Everyone, well, except for him-” Graham nods towards Hook’s still slumped form, “is locked in a dream that has very real consequences,” he tries to explain. “Oh, and by the way - what the hell Emma - a pirate? Not a relationship bound to last you know.”

“Oh we’re not-” she sputters, feeling a blush creep up her throat and into her hairline. “Wait why not him? Why is he not dreaming?” She demands, hoping Graham hasn’t noticed, which is dumb, because Graham’s dead - and because there is absolutely nothing going on between her and Hook.

“Listen, something’s happened,” Graham says leveling her with the seriousness in his voice.

“Gold’s spell,” Emma says frustrated. “Damn it.”

“Emma,” Graham says taking her hand. “The whole town is in a dream like state. It is very dangerous, there are dark things roaming here. And your friend, he’s in an even darker place now, where dreams don’t exist. Those monster flowers you conjured up are lethal. He won’t make it if you don’t wake up if everyone doesn’t wake up.”


	7. Chapter 7

Together they tug Killian away from the deadly vines, which are still swinging lightly towards them although there is no breeze, and prop him up against a tree. Emma checks for a pulse. “He’s alive,” she says.

Graham just shrugs his shoulders, “maybe not for long.”

She glares at him.

“What?” Graham says nonchalantly. “I told you, he’s beyond a dream now, who knows what will happen.”

“Very comforting - and helpful,” Emma chastises him.

“It’s a strange world you’ve dreamed up for yourself,” Graham says ignoring her, stepping over Hook’s legs.”

Emma appraises her surroundings. She pushes down that tiny voice in her head that keeps insisting things like, _stay here,_ and _this isn’t so bad_. The truth is that right now, it isn’t. Except for the part where Killian is unconscious. Still, here, Graham is alive, and warm, and the same. One of the few real friends she’d made in Storybrooke, the first guy she had really wanted to kiss since Neal, the first person who had brought her heart back to life.

“I mean, a dead guy, a pirate, deadly foliage, Graham continued. “But the dress, the dress I like.”

She looks down at the heavy garment, “Yeah, I don’t know what this is all about,” she says with a grimace. “But if all this,” she says motioning towards the thick foliage is coming from my subconscious it's probably only going to get worse.”

Graham chuckles and then grabs for her hand. “Seriously though, is it wrong that I am glad I am here? That it is me you dream of?”

“Graham I-”

“Don’t say it,” he interrupts with a shake of his head. “I know. It starts with a sorry, right? Something about how my death was your fault that you could have stopped it.”

“You died because of me,” Emma gulps, miserable tears welling up in her eyes.

“No, I died because of one broken, sad woman, who has never known what it is to love. That’s not you.”

“I didn’t save you, I didn’t do anything.”

Emma knew that he was a figment of her subconscious, but his hand in hers was so warm, and his eyes so full of emotion. If there were stars in this strange sky, she would be wishing on them like the song says. There aren’t so she just breathes in and out, sending the wish into the universe with every beat of her heart.

Graham tugs her towards him and wraps his arms around her. His familiar jacket smells of leather, dirt and grass. His heart beats a steady rhythm against her cheek.

“You held my hand and cried,” he finally says, gruffly. “When I left this world, you were holding my hand, and I wasn’t alone. That is who you are.”


	8. Chapter 8

“So how do I fight whatever this is and get everyone back to their regularly scheduled lives?” She asks, pulling away reluctantly. “Kill an ogre? Storm a castle? Break a curse?”

“I don’t know Swan,” Graham shrugs apologetically. “This is your sub conscious, not mine.”

“That’s just perf-”

A loud boom sucks the words and air out of her lungs, sets the trees trembling. Lightning, a gun shot behind her ear, shatters the bark off a tree, two over from where they have left Killian. Emma exchanges a frightened glance with Graham.

The air is thick, sticky, and a bead of sweat runs down her back. “We’ve got to get him out of here,” Emma says, stepping on the stupid gown she is wearing, her feet tangling in the hem. “This fucking thing!” she snarls, swiping the hair stuck to her brow away with an irritated jerk.

The dress is already torn, and she wiggles a finger into the hole and tears. The sound is satisfying, and she breathes out, rips the material all the way around, until the bottom of the dress his hanging on by a thread. Graham gapes at her half amused, half confused.

“What?” she barks out. “I am tired of stepping all over this stupid thing.”

“You should be kinder to that dress, the princess look suits you Emma,” Graham teases.

“Shut up,” she snaps, finally ripping the last of the hem. She throws the silky fabric onto the ground and stomps towards Killian’s slumped form.

She huddles over Killian, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. The air is electric and static races across the grass and up the trees. Lightning fractures the air and sets off a rumbling she can feel under the soles of her boots.

“Something’s coming,” Graham warns worriedly over the lightning and the static. Even though this is just a dream, her dream, there is an undercurrent of fear in his voice that is very real. “We don’t have time. What happens here is real Emma. You could die.”

“We’re not leaving him behind,” she shouts at Graham. “If I can die, then he can die!”

“Where are we going to take him?” Graham snaps. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“I will think of something,” She says forcefully, “This is my stupid dream. No one else is going to die because of me.”

“Oh Emma-”

She ignores him starts to pull on Killian by the lapels of his jacket, trying to get him to stand.

Another sharp crackling shakes the trees, catching one on fire, with an ugly whoomp.

“Killian!” she shouts desperately, shaking him. The ground rumbles again, and she loses her balance, falls to her knees, Killian’s head slams against the tree.

She feels a sob starting to over take her, swallows it down hard. “Killian, _please_.”

Graham’s hand is on her shoulder. “Emma, we’ve got to go.”

“No,” she barks angrily, staring at Killian’s expressionless face.

It is almost imperceptible over the thunderous crashes and lightning striking the trees, but he moans, low and hurt. “Killian!” She stares intently at his fluttering eyelids.

He is still out of it. She places the back of her hand to his clammy forehead, he isn’t feverish, but his skin is still that waxy sickly color. She examines the wound on his neck, it is puss filled and purple fans out from the punctures.

“Killian,” she says again shaking him.

His eyelids flutter and she holds her breath. “Killian, you’ve got to wake up,” she says shaking him again.

Lightning splinters the air overhead, and she falls back on her heels.

Killian’s eyelids flutter, black to hazy blue, and he is looking right at her. “The twilight gleams in her eye, the night on her hair-” he whispers dreamily, trailing a finger down her cheek.

“Ok, Romeo,” she says distractedly, well aware that Graham is watching this whole exchange. “If you can flirt, you can stand.” She tugs him up, and gets one arm over her shoulder before shooting Graham a deadly glare. “A little help?”

She gets the arm with the hook over her shoulder while Graham gets the other one over his, and they begin to drag Killian away from the trees.

“So, are you sticking to your story?” Graham questions grunting over the dead weight that is Killian Jones.

“What are you talking about?” Emma hisses darting her eyes to Killian’s face. “I think he’s passed out again.”

“You can’t really expect me to believe that there is nothing going on between you two,” Graham huffs skeptically.

“There isn’t,” Emma snaps. “I don’t have feelings for him, and I am pretty sure he isn’t capable of having actual feelings. He’s Captain Hook,” she says jerking her head towards the hook resting on her shoulder.

“You keep calling him Killian.”

She glares at him. “He doesn’t mean anything to me, not like that.”

“Right,” Graham says with an eye roll.

“He brought Henry back to me, for that, I won’t leave him behind again.”

“Again?” Graham asks, raising his eyebrows curiously.

“It’s a long story,” Emma sighs dismissively. “Why are we even having this conversation right now?”

“Maybe I’m just jealous,” Graham jokes, but it tugs at her heart and she looks across Killian’s chest catching his eye.

He exhales sadly, the joking tone sliding away along with the grin. “It’s stupid, I’m dead. I don’t get the girl. I know that.”

“Graham, if I could change things-”

“I know,” he sighs.

The ground suddenly rumbles violently under their feet. Emma looks back over her shoulder. “Oh my god,” she exhales. “Run!”


	9. Chapter 9

It is a hundred times worse than Maleficent. The beast roaring towards them looks more like something out of Jurassic Park. She is an ancient, scaly, fire breathing killing machine all muscle and razor sharp claws and teeth.

With Killian between them, their run is more like a hobble and Emma is already out of breath. “Leave me here, love,” Killian says drowsily, but when she looks in his eyes, they are narrowed, leaving no room for argument.

“I won’t,” she says, readjusting to get a better grip.

Graham shoots her a desperate look, and she shakes her head at him menacingly.

The Tyrannosaurus Rex of dragons is quickly making up ground and shooting breathy fireballs towards them, setting trees and grass on fire. Emma whips her head around looking for anything, anywhere they can go.

Another deep quake shakes the ground and she loses balance, dropping Killian and pulling down Graham. She rolls and is on her feet. “Take it,” Killian says his voice rising over the din. He is fumbling to unsheathe his sword. She bends down, pushes his fingers away, and yanks it free.

“Ok, I’ve got this,” she mutters to herself. “Just aim for the heart.”

“Split up,” Graham yells, indicating he will go to the left. Emma nods, and veers away, hoping she can lead the dragon away from both Killian and Graham.

For a moment it seems like it will work, the dragon whips its head around and sends a fireball her away. She ducks just in time to feel it blaze over her head. The beast runs towards her, but at the last minute spots Graham waving his hands making himself visible. The dragon changes direction and speeds towards him.

“No!” she shouts. “Over here, you overgrown lizard!”

The thing shoots another fireball at Graham, who drops and rolls away.

The dragon turns its head and stomps toward Emma, all deadly business now. She holds Killian’s sword and breathes in, breathes out, hopes her aim is as good as last time.

She doesn’t count on Killian trying to stand, getting between her and the dragon. She doesn’t even have time to think; _what are you doing you idiot?_

The dragon rears back, and suddenly Emma knows what is coming. No dodgeball of fire this time. The dragon unleashes a stream of molten lava that blows Emma’s hair back and knocks her on her butt. For a moment she can’t see Killian, she can’t see anything except vivid orange flames, and smoke so thick it chokes her and makes her eyes water.

Her heart stops, she doesn’t move. She thinks _I’ve got to move, now_. She bats the smoke out of her face and finally sees the damage that is done. There is long gash in the earth, smoke billowing out over the grass, fire roaring along a chasm as deep as the Grand Canyon.

Killian, pale, and unsteady, wobbles along the edge looking up at the dragon, daring the beast, flirting with danger as always.

She calls his name, but he ignores her, and it dawns on her what he is about to do.

She rushes forward, but the earth bucks and rolls under her, and she loses her balance again.

Graham rushes past her, waves his arms, yells, and lures the dragon back towards him. Then Killian does the same, and it goes on like that, each man trying to draw the dragon closer to the edge of the chasm, confusing her, edging her closer and closer.

Emma steps forward draws her sword, remembers how to aim, where to aim. She breathes in, breathes out. Her forearms are taut, she prepares to launch Killian’s sword straight into the heart of the beast. She pulls back.

A shrill shriek, the sound of claws grabbing and earth ripping stops Emma’s heart mid beat. Unbelievably, the dragon is upended, falling backwards, down into the cavern created by her own fire.

The ground shakes and rolls with her efforts to stop the fall, and Emma struggles to hold her ground. As the dragon loses her foothold, the grounds thunders, rips away, and Killian follows the beast over the edge.


	10. Chapter 10

“No! Emma shouts. The earth quakes and shifts under her boots, and she drops to her knees. She pushes herself up, lunges for the edge of the smoking chasm. Killian is there, hook caught on a thick root, his good hand scrabbling for purchase.

“Hold on!” She yells down at him, and he rewards her with a pointed look, an eyebrow cocked, and then a painful grimace.

“Hold my legs,” she motions to Graham. She shimmies towards the edge on her stomach and stretches her arm down towards Killian. He doesn’t reach back, she’s too far away.

She turns back, her hair billowing around her face; she whips it out of the way. “I need to get closer. Don’t let go,” she yells back at Graham.

“Emma-" he warns with a shake of his head.

She knows what the gesture means. _Leave him, there’s no use_. “No, I am not leaving him. He isn’t going to die because of me,” she argues forcefully.

Graham relents, readjusts his grip on her legs, holding her tight.

She shimmies further, the boning in the corset biting into her skin. She stretches her arm forward as far as it will go. She is close.

“I need you to grab my hand,” she yells down at Killian. His eyes meet hers, and for a moment they are full of hopeless resignation as if he knew all along that this is how it would end.

“No,” she breathes, shaking her head at him, commanding him with a glare. “This is my stupid subconscious brain,” she spits out, “and I need you on the other side.”

“Swan, I’m a lost cause,” he shouts up. “No use risking your life.”

“Would you shut up!” she shouts back. He frowns at her. Something flutters against her heart, lifts, and bats against her ribcage. “I’m not letting you go!”

He cocks an eyebrow at her, holds her gaze, a strange emotion flickering there, and she knows what he is thinking.

“Yes - ok, I might – maybe care about you,” she shouts at him hoarsely. “So stop being a jerk and take my hand!”

She doesn’t have time to think about what her words mean or do not mean. She only knows that she can not watch him leave her, will not leave him behind. When they wake up from whatever this nightmare is, she can evaluate the stupid dance her heart is doing. She reaches forward again, and Killian propels himself towards her, his fingers clutching hers. For a moment it feels as if they will slip right past each other, but then he swings forward and they are clutching each other's wrists.

That thing near her heart does that fluttery thing again, and he must be able to see it on her face because he grins at her. She rolls her eyes, but it’s just out of habit because that stupid grin keeps mending something in her that she can’t quite explain. She pushes the thought down as soon as it emerges because she can not be thinking about this stuff right now.

“Pull,” she yells back at Graham and she can feel him using all his strength on her thighs, then her hips as he tugs her back. Her arm tingles, goes dead, and feels as if it is just about to fall off.

Hook swings precariously against the crumbly chasm, his feet struggling to find purchase. “Give me the other one,” she shouts nodding her head towards his hook. He shakes his head. “Now!” she commands, and he swings it towards her with a grimace.

She catches the sharp point, and it gouges and slides across her palm, slipping away from her. She readjusts, reaches farther, and finally gets a good grip on the spot where the apparatus meets his wrist.

As Graham tugs, she can feel the boning in the corset scraping her ribcage, and she is painfully out of breath. Blood drips from her palm onto the cuff of Killian’s jacket, but she holds tight, and when he is almost eye level with the top of the chasm he pulls his hook out of her bleeding hand and forcefully sinks it into the earth.

She pulls, Graham tugs and Hook uses his momentum to throw one leg over the top. He rolls away from the edge pulling her with him, and they land in a heap. She has lost the grip on his forearm, but finds that their fingers are loosely entwined. She squeezes his fingers and turns her head. He is staring at her, ashes in his hair. She lets out a shaky laugh. “I thought I’d lost you back there,” she says meaning it to come out nonchalantly, but the words catch in her throat, and she feels breathless.

She turns her head the other way, fully expecting Graham to be breathing heavy next to her. Instead, all she sees is smoking grass in the space where he should be. She sits up with a start. “Graham!”

“I’ve got to go Emma,” he says holding up his hands, showing her how translucent he has become.

“Graham?” she says in a strangled voice, pulling herself up. “I don’t want you to go. There has to be a way.”

" I wish I could stay, but not even the savior can bring back the dead," he says a sad smile on his lips. “And Emma,” he says moving towards her, “you have to wake up now.” His hands, more wind and whisper than flesh caress her cheek. He leans in, and Emma closes her eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

“Swan,” Killian says his voice scratchy, thick sounding.

She opens her eyes and instantly is sore and acutely aware of the crick in her neck. They are sprawled across Mary Margaret’s kitchen table. Her arm is stretched across, meeting his half way, their fingers tightly entwined.

She ruminates on this for just a moment, before pulling back and away. An inscrutable expression flits across his features before he dons his bored look and stretches.

“That was-” Emma fumbles pushing her chair back.

“A nightmare?” he offers, pulling on his coat.

“Yeah.” she breathes, her hip against the corner of the table. She checks out her hand, where his hook tore into her skin. No scar or bruise or any indication that it had even been real.

“Well - thank you for saving my life,” he says gazing at her in that unsettling way. “Although who knows if your ghostly suitor was telling the truth.”

“Seemed pretty real to me,” Emma mumbles to her feet, feeling strange and awkward and wondering whether things in a dream translate in the real world.

She can feel Killian’s eyes on her. “Yes, it felt that way for me as well,” he finally says gruffly.

Emma knows he is not just talking about fire, and dragons. It occurs to her that she is walking a tightrope here, she can keep going, hope not to fall and break her neck or step down now and save herself the heartbreak.

She steps towards him.

“How’s that bite,” she whispers, pulling at his collar, even though she knows that the wound, like the one on her hand has disappeared.

She touches the spot where the punctures and awful festering wound had been.

She can see him swallow, hard. She looks up meets his eyes.

“Emma,” Killian growls reaching up, twining her hand on his neck in his.

The air between them is like kindling catching fire. It starts somewhere near her heart, races up her arm, catches his, and they are burning.

“Emma!” Henry interrupts from the top of the stairs.

“Hey kid.” She says, pulling away quickly, wincing at the shaky sound of her voice as Henry bounds down the stairs.

“Was that the spell?” he asks, looking from Emma to Killian and back.

“It must have been,” Mary Margaret says joining them. David has a wry grin on his face, and Emma decides she does not want to know what kind of dream those two had.

“Neal’s alive,” Henry says excitedly. “I saw him. I saw my dad.”

Emma puts her hands on her son’s shoulders, bends down, “It was just a dream, just things that were in your subconscious.”

“No, it was real,” Henry says enunciating every word as if she were an idiot.

“It wasn’t,” she says shaking her head, knowing with a start that if it had been real for her and Killian it could have been for Henry. But no, Neal was dead, that was a fact. “I was there, I saw him when he went through that portal,” she softly reminds Henry.

Henry holds her in a gaze for a beat, and she feels his longing. It breaks her heart. It is so familiar. “You told him you loved him,” he says matter-of-factly, and grins like he has just one-upped her.

Emma’s mouth drops open. She had told Neal she loved him before that portal had taken him away, that was true, but he was not alive. Maybe somehow his spirit had come to their son, the way Graham had come to her. It was the only explanation. “Henry-”

A furious pounding on the door makes her jump before she can form any words.

“Who the hell is that?” she asks crossly.

Mary Margaret opens the door carefully and sighs loudly when Regina storms in followed by Gold.

“Great job, fixing the wayward cloaking spell,” David says sarcastically.

“I told you his little girlfriend was useless,” Regina says venomously. “But thanks to me, everything should be back to normal.”

Gold holds his tongue, and a strange look passes between them. Emma thinks she for sure does not want to know what those two were dreaming about.

“I saw Neal,” Henry repeats to Regina. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t real, everything we dreamt was real.”

“Henry, if I thought your dad was alive, I’d leave today,” Emma interrupts before Regina can get a word in. “I’d leave right now. I’d do anything to bring him back to you. But he’s not. He’s just not.”

“We could be a family,” Henry implores, breaking her heart just a little more. “You and Neal could start over. You love each other. You just have to find a way back to each other.”

David clears his throat, and Regina swoops down to hold Henry, shooting Emma an ugly glare.

Emma throws her hands up. As if this day hadn’t been bad enough, now she was shattering her kid’s dreams at having a happy normal family. While she had loved Neal while a part of her always would, she had changed. Her life had taken on a new direction.

That direction always seemed to be leading her back to Killian and he –

She looks over her shoulder. The sight of the open door behind Gold feels like a ton of bricks falling on her. Killian had slipped out. She quickly replays the conversation that had just taken place, imagines it from Killian’s perspective. She can hear his thoughts almost as if he had actually spoken them aloud. Something about how he wouldn’t get in the way of the family she deserved, wouldn’t come between her and Henry, wouldn’t destroy her chances of having something normal and true. Something about, how it made sense for her to be with the father of her child.

He was an idiot.

“I’ll be right back,” she says glancing at the open door, and then at Mary Margaret, who stares back curiously.

“I have to find Killian,” she exhales, suddenly breathless, a strange fluttering emanating from her chest that she is sure everyone can hear. She knows if she doesn’t go now, she will lose her nerve, and she will always wonder what could have been.

“The pirate?” David scoffs, his brow wrinkling in distaste as it dawns on him. Mary Margaret elbows him in the ribs, and nods encouragingly at Emma.

“Henry,” she says pulling him out of Regina’s embrace. “I’ll be right back, I have to find Killian, and then we can finish this discussion ok?”


	12. Chapter 12

_Fuck,_ Emma thinks closing the door behind her, knowing that following him is a choice she is making that will change everything. She has never been good at making the right choices. _Fuck_ she says as her boots click loudly down the sidewalk.

The night is turning over to day, the air is so cold. “Wait!” she yells when she spots his dark form. His long jacket sways at his ankles and his shoulders are bent warding off violent winds, although there is no breeze.

She knows he hears her because he stops, but he doesn’t turn. She hesitates, a niggling doubt that maybe she has misjudged things, maybe whatever she thought was between them was just a fond fiction she had conjured up.

 _The twilight gleams in her eye, the night on her hair_ -

“Killian, wait,” she says louder. Fuck, she is really going to do this, because the option of not, is, well, not an option.

The sound of her boots on the sidewalk and the furious thump of her heart drown out everything else. _It’s what a heart is for_.

She stops, close enough to touch, but hesitates, the tense set of his shoulders surprises her. Her breath hard, her heart in her throat “wait, goddamn it,” she finally breathes.

She reaches for him, her fingers brush against his, and then she tightens her grip, weaves her fingers in his, waits. When he still doesn’t move she tugs him backwards towards her.

Then, his head turns slightly, and she drops his hand, steps around to face him. She can tell he’s steeled himself. He’s on the verge of saying something routinely obnoxious, but his eyes betray him, and are resigned and weary. She thinks as she so often does that he isn’t Hook, he isn’t even Killian. He isn’t a fairytale, he is just a man, one who turned his ship around for her, followed her and fought for her son. He is a man, who stayed even when he was unsure, when she was pushing him away. He is a man who woke up from a dream with poetry on his lips.

She wants to say _don’t go. You belong to me now. And, I am yours_. But she has never been good at saying (or feeling) things like that, so instead she clutches the collar of his jacket with both hands and pulls him toward her.

The resigned look fades, but his eyes are still weary, and she knows he needs to hear her say the words. Fuck. Words have never been her currency so instead she stretches up to meet him, cups his face in her hands and brushes her lips over his.

It is a different kind of moment. Both wind in your hair blurry, and languid. He finally pulls her close, his hook under her jacket, pressing into the skin between the hem of her shirt and her waistband.

When she opens her eyes, his are cerulean, like the sea, but clear, the weariness almost gone.

“Emma,” he whispers onto her lips.

_The twilight gleams in her eye, the night on her hair -_


End file.
